Acceptance
by NoteWorthy
Summary: You can't ignore hatred if it's yourself that you hate. To everyone, Mello is 'the best', but he knows he is far from perfect - and that's something he can't accept. One-sided MxM.


**Acceptance**

Mello's flaws were well-known throughout Wammy's.

He was the one that everyone envied – the composed one, the one that nobody ever questioned – and because of this, his flaws weren't just well known, but they were also accepted. Accepted because, with the one exception of Near, he was the boy that everyone looked up to and admired openly. To them, his flaws weren't even considered to be 'flaws'.

He was perfect.

He was the _best_.

But that was only to the people on the outside looking in. Mello was far from perfect; he was far from 'the best'. In reality, he was second best, always one step behind Near, and that just wasn't good enough for him. Near wasn't as distinguished as Mello was, nor was he by any means as noteworthy – Near was nothing stunning at first glance – but that was meaningless to Mello. It didn't matter that he was more attractive and significantly more popular than Near, because Near had something that Mello didn't – something that Mello wanted more than anything else.

Near beat him at everything in school, and that was single reason for Mello's self-doubt. And because of it – the inferiority that it triggered – he felt as though he could count his good qualities on his right hand, but that his flaws required an entire notebook to record: there were a hell of a lot of them. And even though no one else could see these so-called flaws, he could, and he would linger on all of them.

There was a mirror in Mello's room, and whenever he was alone, he would look into it and examine everything. Everything, from the blemishes on his skin, to his impulsive cruelty towards Near, to his useless obsession with chocolate. He was as analytical with himself as he would be with his investigations; analytical as he had been raised to be.

Sometimes someone would catch looking at himself, but he'd never bother explaining what he was doing. Whenever Matt would walk in lazily with an uninspired half-smile on his face, Mello would furiously tear himself away from the mirror and turn his attention to his books. Matt, having shared a room with Mello for years, wouldn't question what Mello had been doing. It was no use trying to find out anymore, when he'd only be faced with the same evasive dismissal again. Matt had gotten used to ignoring the awkwardness that was inevitable for whenever he stepped back into his own room.

An inferiority complex? Some people thought that it was narcissism.

Sometimes, when Mello was alone and in front of the mirror, he would think of Matt, his roommate and – admittedly – his friend. He would think of Matt and how he longed for him to see who Mihael Keehl really was. How he wished that Matt knew that 'Mello', the condescending façade of Mello, was just the excuse to make when Mihael's confidence would break, and how Mihael Keehl was a wholly different entity to Mello. He wanted him to know that, even if he looked angry sometimes, he could never be angry at Matt… because it was Matt.

Mello thought that it was Matt that was perfect, not himself. He was aware of Matt's flaws, sure, but he still didn't think that they made him any less incredible. He was hard to talk to. He smoked. He was careless. He wasted too much of his time playing video games and ruining his eyesight because of it. He was indolent – but were any of those serious enough diminish his excellence? Because to Mello, there were things that made up for what wasn't so great about Matt.

He was smart, smart in a way that Mello wasn't. Even though he was behind Mello and Near in terms of technical 'intelligence', he was always content with his aptitude, unlike Mello, who could never be happy. He was a good friend – whenever Mello needed him, he would be there for him in a heartbeat, and that was a loyalty that no one else in Wammy's possessed. He was creative and observant, and also unwittingly funny. He knew how to make a person feel better about themselves, sometimes just by staying with them and showing them that, even if nobody else did, he cared about them – a trait of Matt's that made him shine brighter than anyone else that Mello knew.

And all of these traits were wrapped up in a red, white and blue package, with his every physical feature also perfect in Mello's eyes. With his reddish-brown hair, soft, creamy complexion, and sapphire-blue eyes, Matt was something different. He was something special.

Mello liked to talk to him. Whenever Mello's bad mood ended, it was routine for the boys to fall into a conversation about whatever drivel they felt like talking about for the minute. It could have been about chocolate, and why Matt thought that Mello needed to cut down on it, or about how funny it was to attack Roger with deceitful rumours that made him wish that he'd never stepped foot in Wammy's House.

"My eyesight is crap," Matt had once complained while he sat on the floor, watching his video game.

Mello just grinned and put made the shape of an 'L' with his finger and thumb. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "It's not _that_ bad, it's just that the outlines of the characters on the screen are blurred to me. And I can't read what that book's called." He pointed to the encyclopedia that Mello had just been aimlessly flipping through.

"Jeeze, Matt," was Mello's only response.

"I can tolerate it."

"You should get glasses."

Matt shook his head startlingly quickly. "No way, I'd look like an ass, so don't tell Roger that I need them."

As he bit his lip, Mello felt himself choke on the flattering words of disagreement that threatened to come out of his mouth. "You'd look fine," he said, avoiding specific compliments. "Glasses can look good sometimes – you've seen the pictures of Watari when he was younger. There's your proof."

Matt shrugged, carrying on with his video game. He grinned when a character wearing goggles came onscreen. "I wouldn't mind if I could wear something like those," he commented.

Mello found it impossibly hard to understand how Matt thought he could look anything short of perfect in glasses. He looked at the TV screen, and seeing the goggles that the pixel was wearing, he made a mental note that Matt found goggles acceptable, hoping he'd appreciate the gesture of being given a pair. Matt was known for liking quirky things.

Even though Mello found relief when his mind would wander and eventually settle on Matt, there was a part of him that hated himself even for that. It wasn't normal for a fourteen-year-old boy to have an obsession – if it was fair to call it that – with his roommate. It wasn't normal for him to watch Matt as he played his video games or finished his assignments for school. Mello knew that it wasn't normal. He knew perfectly well that it was strange. It was another flaw of Mello's – he was a fucking queer, making romanticized notes of his friend and what he liked, or, God forbid, _loved_ about him.

Sometimes, when Matt was sleeping and Mello was awake, lost in his thoughts, he would look over to the redhead and smile. But it wasn't just a smile; it was a reservation, a smile reserved for Matt alone, too sincere for another to see it, too fervent to be secreted. No one knew that Mello, the 'cool' one of Wammy's House, the cavalier, the _best_, would waste his nights watching his best friend as he slept. No one could ever understand him for it, nor would they ever know that he did it. His fascination with Matt was a secret, known only to him, and nobody could ever know about it.

On the day that the results of the winter exams were pinned on the wall, Mello had ended up running back to his mirror – Near was ahead of him, once more, and all that Mello wanted to do was scrutinize himself in entirety, to locate and destroy the one flaw that made him be second every single time. He wanted to cry, he really did, but as he stared into the mirror, he dared himself not to. He didn't want to fail that challenge, even if it was himself who had set the test, because it seemed that constant failure was just another flaw of his.

The words began to flash through his head: Deficient. Second. Weak. Perverted. Fool. Bastard. Failure. _Matt_…

He was just not good enough. He was never good enough, and he'd never accept that. He would never let himself accept that.

The door opened, and Mello leapt away from the mirror and into his bed – but Matt had seen him by the mirror already. Mello avoided Matt's gaze, looking away from him dejectedly, his arms folded in discontent and dismay as he lay on his bed.

Usually, Matt wouldn't have said a single word, but this time it was different. He didn't try to get Mello's attention in any bold way – he wasn't forward in the way that Mello could be. He just walked to his own bed and lay down, situating himself to be like his best friend, and waited for a long moment to pass between them.

"Do you think I'd look any better if I looked in the mirror more?" he asked carefully, trying not to look at his friend.

Mello didn't respond.

"It seems to work for you," Matt said quietly, his eyes glancing over in time to see his friend smile weakly. Matt closed his eyes and sighed, his next words coming easily, "Brave. Noble. Smart. Beautiful. Focused. Sharp. Determined. Fun. Unique."

He looked to his right to see Mello staring at him with wide, confused, questioning eyes, searching to find an explanation within Matt's undefined expression. But Matt only nodded, and then stood up to leave the room: he'd done what he needed to do, said what he'd needed to say, and Mello had heard what he needed to hear. He gave his friend a nod of devoted solace, and then turned to leave the room, heading for the door.

Before he left the room, he paused. "You're pretty great, Mello," he said. "I hope you know that."

When he finally left the room, Mello breathed out in liberation. Matt's words said were all he needed to know, and he stood up to take a look at himself in the mirror once more. And this time, the flaws that had destroyed him only a couple of minutes ago didn't show up. Somehow, through Matt's words, they had disappeared, and Mello was amazed to feel that his burden of self-hate was being lifted.

It may have only been for a while – maybe just momentarily – that Matt had lifted this burden, but Mello felt sanctuary for the first time in a long while. 'Pretty great' wasn't perfect, and it certainly didn't make Mello the best, but it was good enough, at least for now, because finally Mello would be able to start his journey down the road to acceptance.


End file.
